Sterek - The Change
by kryelantern
Summary: Stiles is attacked and bitten. Even after Derek has killed the wolf that made him, Stiles is still a werewolf. Derek has sworn to figure out the reason why and, against his will, keeps Stiles at his side.He soon finds that his affection for the new, young wolf will turn into something more than he'd been prepared to handle.
1. Chapter 1

_Please… Don't. I don't want to turn. Not into this._

The words are in his mind. Fuzzy and nearly forgotten, but they lingered. He didn't' remember thinking them, let along saying them.

Drawing in a slow breath, Stiles blinked tiredly, his eyes scanning his room, still dark and only illuminated by the moon as it hung blissfully in the sky. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. He didn't even know what time it was. What day. But everything ached, like he'd gone a round with Scott on the field. But this pain was different. His insides felt meshed up, pulled and tugged. Like he'd been a puzzle, sloppily dismantled and forced back together in a way that just didn't fit.

The first breath after the realization was the hardest. The second wasn't so bad, but it left him feeling more dizzy, the smell of copper soaking into his skin. He could smell it all over himself.

Fumbling for his phone, he slid to sit on the floor, his tattered shirt still dripping in the blood that had been torn from his body only hours before. Though he had no memory of it.

Finding Scott's number, he pressed 'call' and lazily dropped the phone against his ear. His fingers were twitching, aching angrily, and it was hard for him to hold up something so light. There was no answer.

Sucking on his lips hard, the dizziness slapped him hard again, making him sway to the side. He caught himself only moments before his head collided with the side of the desk. A lazy agility that he hadn't had before.

He hastily tried the next number he could think of. The phone rang a few times until there was an answer, a deep and blank voice on the other end, "Hello?"

He tried to find the words, but there were none. It was almost like he didn't know English anymore, despite the hectic thoughts looping through his mind. _What happened? Where were you tonight? What the fuck did that guy do to you?_ He could only peace together that he'd been at a party and then suddenly, he wasn't. He remembered the woods, the smell of rain and the coarse tickle of leaves as they slithered across his skin.

"Hello? Stiles… is that you? Why aren't you saying anything?" The voice wasn't panicked, not in the slightest, but the alarm was in the words the speaker had chosen to use.

Stiles let out a sigh, biting his tongue hard, trying to muster up anything, even a cry of pain. Just _something_. But his usual rapid word vomit came out as a ragged breath and a groan. _It's something_, he thought to himself, _He'll know. He'll come, like he always does_.

"STILES," the voice screamed and then there was deafening silence, the hazy buzz of the phone line tickling his senses. He'd never noticed before, the feedback from the phone, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Listening to the feedback made him feel lopsided. Leaning carefully against the side of his desk, his fingers lost their strength, dropping the phone hard to the floor. And then there was nothing. Just blackness and silence, pressing down around him. He imagined this is what Isaac must have felt like when his father used to lock him in the freezer. He tried to push, but his muscles wouldn't budge. And soon, he was enveloped in a warm nothingness.

"St-iles… Wake…. Come on—"

Stiles blinked slowly a few times, his body quickly reacting to the invasive sound. Sitting up sharply, his hand flew to a thick neck, new found razor sharp nails pressing into the flesh hard enough that he felt thick warm blood dribble out of the puncture marks and down his blazing skin. Everything around him felt hot, not realizing that _he_ was actually the one that was hot. Burning up, in fact.

"Stiles!" The familiar voice screamed. A hand clasped his wrist tightly. A _stronger_ hand. Gripping him so tightly that his bones began to splinter.

Stiles heard his name, but it wasn't the same. His eyes turning to the scruffy, dark face, he recognized the man, but in an obscure way. It was like he was looking through a telescope, everything narrowed to a single point- the man's lips. The edges of his vision as frayed and damaged as his body had felt before he passed out. He could see, and even hear, but his body was acting on it's own. Like a microorganism, he could feel himself move instinctively to a set destination, having no say in the route taken.

He felt his fingers tighten around the other mans throat. _No… Stop, Stiles_. Almost begging his body to relinquish the assault.

It took a few moments too long for him to stop. The stronger hand shot from his wrist to his throat, constricting his breaths in its squeeze until his body finally submitted.

Breathing hard, Stiles felt his vision start to spread like water. A feeling of control washing over him again as he heard his name again. This time softer, more concerned.

Looking up slowly, Stiles caught the dark red gaze under heavy eyebrows, a mouth open and fangs barred defensively. "Derek," Stiles whispered, noticing that the rest of Derek's face hadn't changed into the grotesque mask of a werewolf, which he was thankful for.

"Good morning, beautiful," was all the young boy could muster before passing out again, falling into Derek's chest as he slipped back into the steady darkness.

When he came too fully, Stiles felt as good as new. His vision wasn't hazy and his body wasn't aching. Like he'd been born again into a newer, better body, he felt like he could do anything.

Sitting up, he slumped forward a bit, his eyes scanning the room carefully. The high ceilings stretched out above him, carrying the soft sounds of sizzling meat throughout the apartment. His hands rubbed his legs slowly before pulling away the blanket, the cold welcome of the floor quickly dissipating into a fluid warmth that seemed to travel up into him, rivering through his body intricately and warming him from head to toe.

And the _smell_. It was rich and pungent. So much so that he could almost see the pig standing in front of him, tagged and grimly waiting to head into the slaughter. The thought made him gag a bit, but he held it in as Derek entered the room, barefoot as well.

"Good, you're awake," the older man said flatly, slapping a plate of his cooked pig friend down onto the coffee table. He shoved a glass of water into Stiles hand, which he accepted awkwardly, his fingers curling around the cool skin of the glass. He could feel the moisture burn away under his touch.

"What happened?" Stiles asked cautiously, his eyes turning up to meet Derek's back as he crossed the room to his desk, sitting against the edge. His body was long and lean, like a rigid mountain of muscle, ready for him to climb. Stiles quickly shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth with his free hand, trying to deter himself from such thoughts.

"You were attacked. Turned."

_Way to put it lightly, but I know that_, he thought, giving Derek a bewildered stare to falsify his understanding of the actual situation. He knew Derek well. If he acted like he knew what was happening then he'd just lecture him about how he could help him and blah blah blah, as long as he joined his pack, blah blah. _Fuck that_, was Stiles' definite opinion on the matter. He sipped the water.

"By an alpha," Derek added, crossing his thick arms against a broad chest.

_Has he always been so big…?_ Stiles thought as the word 'alpha' jiggled around in his mind until it was finally able to caught his attention, "An _alpha_?!" he breathed sharply, "I thought it was—"

"Who? Scott? Me?!" Derek snorted a mocking laugh, rolling his eyes at the younger boys naivety, "Like you could be so lucky. No, it was an alpha that wandered out of his territory. I think his pack died, but he was _out of his territory_," he reiterated.

Stiles felt like Derek was trying to excuse himself from something and it set a tingle of fear in place in his spine. He looked away from the man, his eyes landing on the bacon. The image of the doomed pig came back to mind and he choked on his saliva, pressing the glass to his mouth to quickly relieve the dryness.

"W-What did you do with him…?" Stiles asked carefully.

"I killed him."

Stiles furrowed his brow and looked up at him finally, still unable to meet his eye, his gazing falling on the man's long mouth drawn taught. _Like when I was sleeping, or dreaming… or whatever that was_. He could almost still see the fangs, even when they weren't there. It was kind of like being a wizard amongst muggles and being able to see Hogwarts when no one else could.

"Did you _hear_ me, Stilinski?"

"Yeah, I heard you," Stiles quickly retorted, feeling no anger or remorse over the fact that Derek had ended the alpha. He wasn't sure if that was normal, to be so unconcerned with the death of his maker, "So, what do I do now, killer of wolves?" he mocked him. That had always been his defense, mockery and sarcasm. He slightly recalled giving Scott that same sort of excuse some time ago, but all of his old memories were veiled by the fresh ones: the attack, the turn, grabbing Derek's throat.

"You have to learn—"

"What? To be a wolf? You killed the one who turned me, right? So, I should be fine… I should go back to being human."

"Yeah, you _should_, but you haven't," Derek pointed out. Walking closer to him, he had a look in his eyes, something Stiles didn't recognize and it put him on edge, all of his altered senses on high alert, "You're still a wolf. I don't know why, and you're not going anywhere until we figure it out."

"I have school," Stiles muttered coarsely. He could feel his blood start to rise just from Derek coming so near to him. Something was drawing and repelling the man at the same time, and it was pulling at his insides until it hurt. He felt a need to submit and to serve. But there was something else. A drive rooted deep in his gut, pulling on his better judgment until it was ready to snap. A drive to _kill_.

"Then you'll miss school," Derek said sharply, a low growl limbering around under his tone.

"I can't, I have a test. If I miss the test then my Dad will flip. He already thinks I'm crazy, or that I have ADD. But regardless, I'm not giving him any reason to suspect _anything_. Do _you_ understand?" he staggered rapidly through the words, the angry urge to kill altering his speech until he almost didn't recognize the mouth that was speaking those words. He'd usually make a joke, laugh it off, or make some condescending remark. But this was heavier, some sort of new, 'I'm not taking any of your shit' attitude that was unfamiliar to him. And in all honestly, he kind of liked it.

"Let's see how much you care about school when something pisses you off and you shift," Derek rolled his eyes, "You don't really have a choice in this, Stiles. I'm stronger than you, I can tie you up, chain you to the wall, if I have to."

"Please, I'd like to see you try," Stiles laughed, "I saw how strong Scott was when he turned. You wouldn't be able to hold me—"

As soon as the words left his mouth Derek was on him, pinning his smaller body against the couch, the older man's legs atop his thighs, a hand around his neck and the other hand, claws out, positioned against his torso, "I can't kill you like this, but I could damn well hurt you," he snarled.

Stiles flinched under his grasp, his body wiggling, but that new strength that he'd been sure would kick into gear, didn't. He could only feel the weight of Derek's larger body looming over him threateningly. Looking up into Derek's eyes, he saw the red tint flash over his dilated pupils, fangs slowly slipping free of his mouth. He swallowed and Derek heard it.

Smirking lightly, Derek gave Stiles' neck a hard squeeze before letting him go, climbing off of him fully.

Stiles felt like he'd been hit by a car and he was almost sure that one of his ribs had been broken during the sudden assault. But almost as quickly as it was shattered, it mended itself slowly inside of him. He felt like his insides were crawling with worker ants, eagerly repairing their home. He shifted to sit up on the couch, his face red and a heavy gale of confusion and inadequacy rolling over him.

"Now," Derek glared at him from the corner of his eyes, his fingers bending and cracking gently as his claws receded back, his fangs soon following, "You'll stay here until I can teach you to control the shift. You won't breathe a word of this to McCall, and you'll do everything that I say no matter what."

Stiles almost wanted to melt into the couch, fear of such dominance making him tremble. He watched Derek move with startling fluidity, taking a stance behind the coffee table as he looked down at him.

"Do _you_ understand?" Derek snapped, his teeth slightly bared, only driving Stiles into a further state of fear as he nodded slowly, his fingers pressing tightly into his palms at the thought of what was ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles felt his body buckle under the shock of the blow, his back arching and his stomach curling inward as Derek's fist felt its way deep into his gut, breaking a few bones in the process. Coughing hard, he felt all the breath shoot out of his mouth like a fountain and struggled to find it again.

Pulling his hand back, Derek smirked a bit as Stiles keeled over, barely able to stay on his feet. It was only the first blow and the boy was already wimping out. He wiped his hand against his sweaty brow before he started stalking in a circle around the recovering boy, like a vulture circling a dying prey.

Stiles winced as he felt his body pop into action, mending itself from the inside out. He was sure that if he wasn't a werewolf, that blow along would have landed him in the hospital for days. "Now, that wasn't nice," Stiles whispered, spitting a bit of blood onto the floor at his feet. _Great, and now I have internal bleeding too, _he thought, "What have you got in your fists, bricks?"

"Man up, Stilinski," Derek sneered, the corner of his mouth twirled a bit, hinting at his amusement.

"It's kind of hard to do that… when you're… beating the wolf outta me," Stiles gasped, finally able to breathe normally again. Standing up straight, unfolding from the now fully receded pain, he rolled his shoulders back, trying to regain his wolfie self-confidence. "Why are you going all Ike Turner on me anyway?"

"I told you," Derek groaned in irritation, rolling his eyes, "You need to control your anger. Control your anger and you can find your anchor. Find your anchor and you can control when you turn."

"Yeah, that all sounds well and good, but I'm not particularly angry right now… just trying to figure out if I have to poo now. No big deal," he shrugged.

"You need to take this seriously," Derek warned. Stopping, he narrowed his eyes and Derek could feel them bore into his very core.

"I _am_, okay demon wolf? Just… give me a second," Stiles huffed. Rolling his shoulders again, he lightly started to job in place, throwing a few uncoordinated practice punches at the empty air. Nodding in approval, he smiled tauntingly at Derek, "Okay… Hit—"

His words were cut short when Derek's brick of a fist came flying toward his face. Playing out like a movie, he could see it in his head before it happened: The moment when Derek's fist would collide with his jaw, snapping it to the side and off the hinge, teeth flying and blood spurting like he was a cartoon character. When it actually _did_ happen, Stiles really only felt the tumble to the floor, his forehead smacking against the wood floor roughly before he rolled onto his back. He bent his legs at the knee, breathing hard and pinching his eyes shut as the force of the blow rippled through him over and over, "Fuck," he hissed, slamming a fist on the ground.

"Angry yet?"

"Fuck you, Hale," he muttered, blinking his eyes open to see Derek's face looming over his own, only inches away. Derek wasn't even deterred by the heavy puffs of hair leaving his mouth and nose.

"Are you _angry_?" Derek barked.

"A little…"

That was all the motivation Derek seemed to need. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand tightly around the boy's abused neck, lifting him off of his back and into the air like he weighed no more than a piece of paper.

Finding not even the courage to wiggle or fight, Stiles hung limply in his grasp, letting his body ache and groan as he struggled to breathe. Looking at Derek, the vision of him started to puddle as tears rimmed in his eyes.

"And now you're crying," Derek mocked him, squeezing harder until Stiles heard a loud crack and pop, his bones giving way to the immense pressure and bending awkwardly in different directions. He could feel his body trying to heal. _Needing_ to heal, but Derek's hand prevented it, which meant Stiles couldn't breathe.

His head started to throb wildly as his heart whimpered through pumps. Letting out a soft squeak of pain and fear, Stiles mustered what little strength he had to bring his legs up. Bending them at the knees, he jack hammered them as hard as he could into Derek's bulky chest, knocking himself free of the vice like grip.

His body dribbled to the floor in one fluid motion and without even giving his body time to heal, Stiles leapt forward, driven by white hot rage, into Derek's stomach. Catching the older man's gut against his shoulder, he drove him hard into the wall, feeling the air around them crack as the stone splintered and then shattered in memory of the force. Pulling back sharply, Stiles put a few yards between them, his body finally starting to heal, and recognition of his new found strength flooding through his veins.

Derek coughed loudly, a laugh lazily slipping out after, "W-Where did _that_ come from?" He said his body moving awkwardly, still in shock from the sudden blow. He pressed a hand against the damaged wall to steady himself, the smile still lingering over his lips as he looked at Stiles.

"I… don't know," Stiles said in all honesty. The pain was gone, like it'd never happened and he felt energized. But there was something off, but he couldn't pinpoint just what it was.

"Well… Now we know that anger makes you shift," Derek breathed slowly, pointing a finger at him.

Stiles furrowed his brow, confused and scooted toward the bathroom quickly. Slamming his hands down onto the sink, he stared at the grotesque creature in front of him. Skin pulled tight at the brow and his features tilted and amplified near his eyes and mouth, he looked like a monster. Teeth extended into fangs and his eyes, a gem like yellow, he recognized himself as the _beast_ that he'd seen Isaac and Scott and Derek turn into a million times before. Swallowing, he shook his head, trying to pry the image from his head. He exhaled hard, slamming his hands down again in frustration before he felt a hand on the small of his back.

Looking at his reflection again, his eyes focused on Derek, standing behind him, the serious look on his face, "We will practice controlling your anger a bit more, later. And then, we'll have to find your anchor," he said simply before walking away, leaving Stiles to deal with the mortification of his new appearance, new found powers, and the new life that he was _destined_ to lead.

Stiles knew that it was only a matter of time until his Dad started to worry. Convincing his Dad that he was staying at Scott's house, without letting him talk to Scott's mom, had been hard. But what was even harder, was getting Scott to play along with the charade. This was only because Scott found himself hard pressed to cover for Stiles when he actually had no idea where he was, what he was doing, or _who_ he was with.

"Look, I promise I'm okay! I just… I needed to get away for a few days, okay?" Stiles all but begged as he spoke to Scott over the phone. He wished he could have done this face to face, to explain the subtext through his expressions, like he always did.

Scott sighed into the receiver, "And you're _sure_ you're okay? Like, you're with someone that's cool, at least?"

"Yeah, yeah, I promise," Stiles said rapidly. His eyes flickered up as he stared at Derek, who was perched stoically on the desk, hovering over him. Stiles rolled back a bit in the desk chair, putting a bit of space between them.

"Okay. If you need anything, make sure you call me," Scott said slowly, clearly.

"Yeah, I will, don't worry," he laughed softly, _Answer your damn phone next time_, he thought, his eyes flickering away from Derek to find a random spot on the opposing wall to stare at. He could still see the damage he'd done to the wall when he'd slammed Derek and a false sense of pride caused him to smirk a bit as he hung up his phone, passing it back to Derek.

"Good job," Derek nodded and stood up straight, scooting past Stiles, shoving the phone, not so discretely, into his back pocket.

"Do I get a cookie?"

Derek's lip twitched, un-amused by the quirk.  
"Sorry, I was just… kidding," Stiles puckered his lips awkwardly as his head cocked to the side, "But seriously… do I _at least_ get a doggie biscuit?"

Derek growled low in his throat and glided over swiftly, smacking the boy hard on the back of the head, "That's the _only _thing you're getting.

"Ow!" Stiles laughed, not even recognizing the pain. He was more amused with himself for getting under Derek's skin. No matter how scared he'd been lately, about changing, he was still himself. It'd taken the entirety of the previous night to realize, but he was Stiles and he wasn't ever going to _not_ be Stiles. "Not so rough, Derek," he cooed shyly, "At least buy me dinner first," he added coolly, throwing Derek a coy smile.

Stiles felt like he was awake, but common sense told him that he was asleep. His body was racked with sweat and his limbs were tight, unable to call to them in his unconscious state. He _knew_ he was sleeping, so why the hell couldn't he wake?

_His feet were light against the ground. The smell of blood still laced through the air, catching his nose and drawing him closer to the source. A man, wounded and calling for help, bleeding profusely out of his leg. The man was scared, Stiles could smell it on him, and panicked, heart slapping against his chest in such a rapid, sloppy rhythm that it almost made Stiles' head hurt. But the ragged beat was drawing him near, singing sweetly like a lullaby luring him into a dreamless sleep. And god damnit, he wanted to __**eat**__ it; the stupid, erratic rhythm. _

_He lurched forward, more slowly and he could see the whites of the man's eyes round perfectly as his voice carried to a higher pitch, screaming in terror at the sight before him. Stiles came closer, slowly, slowly, and it was only moments before the man's neck was in his teeth. Snapping and crunching his jaw, he felt his fangs roughly gnaw on the dead man's spine, ripping until he was able to peel the flesh from his leaking throat like he'd been born to do it. It was so easy, and quick, and so damn delicious. _

_The screaming stopped; the drumming beat of the heart fell into silence. The man was dead and he was still chewing, and chewing, and his body was amped, ready to ravage something else alive. He needed __**someone**__ else. _

Snapping upward, Stiles felt himself pulled from the grim scene by two large, strong hands. Breathing heavily, he looked around frantically in the darkness, his hands shooting out blindly to grab on to whoever was holding him. Whoever it was that had _rescued_ him.

"Stiles… Stiles!" Derek's voice was loud and drilled against his ears in its urgency.

Stiles, still shaking and racked with the terror of what he'd just done, fell against the larger man, his hands desperately grabbing at his shoulders before letting his fingers run down his chest. It was so hard to breathe, like someone had reached into his body, sucked out all the air, and then started to squeeze his lungs until they burst.

"Stiles!" Derek rested his hands on the boy's face, pulling it to arch upward, looking down into Stiles' deep brown eyes.

"W-What's h-happening to m-m-me?" Stiles shivered through the words, soft puppy-like whimpers falling over his lips unintentionally.

"Friday's a full moon, Stiles… You're going to have dreams. Sometimes they'll come every night for weeks on end," the man shook his head, "I'm sorry…" was all he could say, his eyes wandering away from the image of the wounded boy.

Stiles didn't wait for another word as he hugged the older man tightly; tears spilling from his eyes like the blood had spilled from the man's neck. He couldn't remember anymore if it was a dream, or if it had actually happened and his regular self had been watching from the inside, unable to stop or control himself. If this was what being a werewolf was like, he didn't want to have any part of it.

"I'll figure this out," Derek promised, hesitantly wrapping his arm around the trembling boy's torso, a comforting hand resting lightly against the back of his head, "I'll save you, Stiles. I promise."

**A/N: **Please leave comments and reviews! They are greatly appreciated and will help me figure out what direction I want to take the rest of the story in (depending on how you guys feel about the progression and your interest level!). This is my FIRST Sterek Fic, so all criticism is welcomed :D Hope you enjoy the story~


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